A Beautiful Design
by WickedlyWest
Summary: Retelling of the Abduction of Persephone. Percy Meter thought she had enough on her plate with school, a young brother, absentee father, and her slightly whimsical mother, but a compelling newcomer to their neighborhood has other plans. Rating may change.


I stood in the middle of the third aisle at the grocery store with a liter of juice in both hands, balancing my cell with my (very cramped) shoulder, when I found myself questioning the point of cellular devices when no one even bothered to answer them. I tapped my foot through each ring while anticipating the opening lines of my mother's voicemail.

"Hello, you've reached Debra Meter, I'm not-"

"Come on!" I groaned, placing one liter between my thighs so that I could end the call and redial yet again. I resituated the phone, grabbed the liter, and tried not to show my impatience by studying the labels more thoroughly. Choosing between two types of juice really shouldn't have made this much trouble for me, but through many years of experience with my mother, I had learned to never rely on my own judgment. Even with juice.

I looked from the cranberry juice in my left hand to the pomegranate juice in my right and tried to recall which it was my mother had asked me to bring home. The only logical conclusion at which I could arrive was that I had the memory of an elderly woman.

Just as I was going to end the call, I heard my mom's voice in my ear. "Percy? You called?" she asked sounding slightly aloof.

"Yeah, you said you wanted some juice – what kind did you want?"

"Sweetheart, I don't think it matters to your brother, just get him whatever. But I have to be going; I'll see you soon. Drive safe!" rushed my mother.

"Cranberry it is," I mumbled after she hung up.

"If I were you I'd go with the pomegranate."

I turned my head to find the source of the amused and heavily accented Irish voice. I barely registered the clatter of my phone hitting the ground, but at the moment it didn't really matter, because I was staring into the bluest eyes I had ever encountered. When I noticed the grey pinstriped suit vest and matching fedora he was wearing, I couldn't help but assess my own outfit, which of course consisted of a pair of jeans and an Incubus tee. At least my hair looked good.

"Excuse me?" I said, when I realized I had been silent for longer than a comfortable moment.

"You should go with pomegranate. I could carry on about the pros of pomegranate juice, but let's just say that I swear by it. Plus, it's delicious," rephrased the man emphatically.

"Oh, thank-you," I replied.

"No problem," he said. "I'm Liam Tierney, by the way. And you?"

I placed the cranberry juice back on the shelf while admiring his wide and impossibly white smile. I wouldn't call myself a shallow person, in fact I prided myself on my genuine nature, but even I could admire someone's appearance from time to time.

That time was most definitely now.

He was tall and broad-shouldered with a powerful countenance, his jaw was firm and defined, yet I felt extremely comfortable in his presence. His skin was fair and clear in contrast to his dark brown curls, which he brushed out of his face every now-and-then.

It was more than his features. There was something completely captivating about him that I couldn't name, however, seeing as we met in a grocery store, I doubted I would ever get the chance to put my finger on it.

"Percy Meter," I answered, grasping his outstretched hand.

"Percy? Is that short for something?"

"Unfortunately, it's short for Persephone," I admitted. "My mom was never fond of anything ordinary, including names."

"Well it's wonderful to meet you, Ms. Meter," said Liam. "And I believe this is yours." He placed my phone, which he had snatched up from the floor, into my open hand. "Listen, I'm on my way to lunch, would you care to join me?"

"I would love to go," I began regretfully. "But my brother isn't feeling well, and I really should be home with him."

"I understand completely, I hope he feels better soon. Besides, I'm sure we'll meet again," he said with a wink

"It was nice talking with you, Liam," I said, smiling as he walked away.

I watched him round the corner and lifted my hand to my mouth, wondering how I could feel so connected to someone I had only spoken to for a few moments.

_I'm sure we'll meet again. _He was so confident, so familiar, and yet I was sure I would never see him again in my life.

"Mom, I'm home!" I yelled, glancing around my living room with the screen door resting on my backside and paper bags in both hands. "Mom?" When I heard no answer I went ahead and brought the groceries into the house by myself, put them away, and checked in on my brother.

I opened his bedroom door quietly and peeked my head into the room, glancing around until I found him passed out on the floor with his blanket clutched tightly in his fist. I decided not to wake him, as he'd been up almost every hour the previous night with a low-grade temperature and a stuffy nose. Nothing could pull at your heartstrings like a sick two-year-old.

"Did you put the juice in the fridge?"

I gasped as I turned around and faced my mother, pulling the door shut behind me. "Shh – Toby is sleeping! Yeah, I put it in the fridge, where have you been?"

"I was out back in the garden planting some flowers, care to join me?"

"Not this time. I thought I'd take a walk, the weather is beautiful!" I replied as I followed her into the kitchen.

"Suit yourself, but make sure to bring a water bottle and your cell, I want to be able to reach you, okay?"

"Alright," I agreed as she walked out onto the deck. "See you later." I opened the fridge door, grabbed my water bottle, and pocketed my cell phone. I was out the door within moments.

As soon as I my feet hit the concrete, I placed my ear buds into my ears and followed the familiar route to the most perfect place in the world. When I reached the end of the Walters' property, my hand came up slide along the cast iron fence, which had been covered in ivy for as long as I could remember. You could barely see through the spaces in the fence, but even if you were able to see through the fence, all you would find were maple trees, but you could view those without having to sneak a peek. But day dreaming about the curious estate was never enough for me; no, I had explored the grounds a long time ago.

The house itself couldn't even be called a house. It was huge, made of cream-colored stone, and heavily influenced by French architecture from the late 1800s. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, with all of the palace-like columns and turrets; it was as if designer of the estate had uprooted a chateau in France and dropped it in the middle of Nebraska. The gardens and the lawn were terribly overgrown and the pool was empty, but with my overactive imagination, I could imagine everything in perfect condition, as maintained by an immense staff. I wasn't sure what the inside of the house looked like because every door and window were locked tightly, and I wasn't willing to break any glass just to satisfy my curiosity.

However nowadays I barely made it past the dense copse of trees that surrounded the property, because I spent most of my time sitting on an old vine-covered swing I had happened upon years ago. The swing looked antique, but the ropes, which hung from a limb on the tallest maple tree, seemed sturdy enough. Close to the swing stood the only cherry blossom tree on the property, let alone the entire city; it was a huge part of the reason I loved spending so much time here, especially during the spring and summer when it blossomed.

I pulled myself over the fence and landed lightly on my feet, brushed some dirt off my knees and continued on toward the southeast corner of the property. When I reached the swing I dropped my jacket and sat down, relishing the familiarity of the slight creak of the wooden seat as it adjusted to hold my weight.

Turning the volume up on my iPod, I began to sing along to the song that was currently being emitted from my ear buds as I nimbly swung my legs.

It was only during these moments by myself that I could forget about my aversion to the wind playing with my hair, in fact, these were the only moments I would ever enjoy the feeling of my hair going every which direction as the wind pulled through my long copper locks

"_Love; it will not betray you, dismay or enslave you, it will set you free, be more like the man you were made to be."_

Just as my feet brushed the packed dirt underneath the swing, I felt two hands grasp the ropes on either side of my waist, effectively bringing me to a stop.

"Oh my gosh!" I gasped while I surged to my feet and yanked out my ear buds in one slightly imbalanced movement. I turned to face my supposed attacker, pulling back my fisted hand, as ready as I would ever be for an altercation.

"Whoa now," cautioned the man in a familiar Irish brogue, his hands up in front of his face in a calming manner. "I didn't mean to scare you."


End file.
